The wedding
by MockingJayFlyingFree
Summary: What if, instead of being reaped for the Quarter Quell, Katniss and Peeta were forced to get married as soon as they turned 18? Your wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day in your life. Well - this one is not.
1. Chapter 1

_**I was inspired by A marriage between victors by optimus-pam when I wrote this story. In her AU, Katniss and Peeta were forced to marry by the Capitol, and they gradually grew together. Before reading that fic, I hadn't really considered what would've happened if Peeta and Katniss had gotten married – but suddenly, I couldn't get this storyline out of my head. It took on a life of its own.**_

_**Angst and smut alert! If you can't handle it, turn back now.**_

_**This won't be a happy wedding day.**_

* * *

The wedding day is a day every girl dreams of, isn't it? Ever since she was a little girl. The flowers, the attention, the love, the music, the rings, the reception. The beautiful white dress, making you look like a princess. Marrying the man of your dreams, the one who makes you **feel** like a princess. Living happily ever after.

Sounds like a dream, doesn't it?

Except it was never **my** dream.

I never dreamt of getting married. It was something I never allowed myself to do. I only dreamt of going to bed with a full belly.

I never asked for this. Yet here I am. Katniss Everdeen. I'm 18 years old. It's my wedding day, and no one asked us.

* * *

I'm woken at dawn by my prep team, Effie and Cinna.

Effie insisted that Peeta and I didn't sleep in the same bed on the last night before we got married. We tried protesting, but it didn't help, Effie claimed that it meant "bad luck". She's found our "sleeping arrangement", as she puts it, most improper from the first time we slept in the same bed at night in the train compartment on the victory tour. Little does she know that there is nothing but sleep and relief from nightmares taking place in our bed at night. Sharing a bed with Peeta is the only thing that helps keeping my nightmares at bay. For the last year or so, I've refused to sleep without him, even for one single night. It got even worse after the Quarter Quell, when we were forced to mentor two poor teenagers from District 12 in the Greatest Hunger Games Ever.

Not that they were great for District 12. 13-year-old Genna and 14-year-old Benjy never stood a chance. They were just Career fodder. Genna was killed after a mere four minutes in the initial blood bath by the Cornucopia, when she took a knife in the neck. She was perhaps the fortunate one, even though I've never felt like a bigger failure than when I watched her die on live television. Ben lived for nearly two days, until he was caught by the District One careers, who had teamed up. They caught him alive, and they took their time killing him. Slowly, bit by bit.

Peeta didn't sleep for nearly a week afterwards.

As I had feared, on this last night before our wedding, I didn't get much sleep without Peeta. I had horrible dreams of mutts dressed in wedding dresses, smelling of roses. I'm still feeling sick to my stomach just remembering that overpowering smell.

I'm sure there will be lots of genetically modified roses today.

My prep team aren't happy about how I look, the night has clearly taken its toll. "No wonder you couldn't sleep last night, no bride can on the night before her wedding day!" Portia giggles. "All that excitement! Oh, you're so lucky!" I can't bring myself to tell her why I didn't sleep.

Only Cinna truly sees, the way he always does. He brushes the sweaty strand of hair away from my forehead, and looks me deeply in the eyes. He looks sad. He's sad for **me**. I have to fight to hold my tears back.

Today is not a day for tears, it's a day for forced happiness. The lives of our families depend on my performance today.

But my prep team do make wonders with me. They manage to take me back to Beauty Base Zero, and then beyond to somewhere I've never even been before.

I wouldn't be surprised if Cinna has orders on how to prep me, but if he does, I think he ignores them. I don't even know what my wedding dress looks like – I didn't pick it myself. All of Panem did, in numerous rounds of voting, and I could never be bothered to look at any of them. All I know is that Cinna designed them all, so I hope it's not too terrible. Not too over-the-top-Capitol. I was afraid they'd do my make-up Capitol style, but thankfully they don't.

"You know what I want you to look like today, Katniss?" he asks me. I shake my head. "I want you to look like the 18-year-old you are." He doesn't say anything else, I guess he doesn't dare to, but he doesn't have to.

Let them see you how young you really are.

Eating sufficient amounts of food, as well as simply growing older - from 16 to 18 - has changed my body. I'm curvier, more womanly that I was before. The curves that hunger stole from my body are now back, and my body is strong and fit from training. I'm not allowed to hunt anymore, the electricity on the fence in District 12 is on 24 hours a day now, and I know it's because of me. But instead of drowning my sorrows in Peeta's baked goods, I decided to keep my strength up, keeping my body in top shape. Learning different fighting and survival techniques. Skills to hopefully pass on to future tributes from District 12. I owed it to them to learn as much as I could – perhaps I, too, would one day be able to do what Haymitch did for Peeta and me: Get a tribute out of the arena. Alive.

When I take a look at myself in the mirror, at first glance looks as if my face is free of make-up, but it's only an illusion. The make-up is done so subtly it looks like it's not there – but what it does, is accentuate my features, making my eyes look bigger, my lips fuller.

My face is glowing.

My hair is flowing in lazy curls on my back, held back by a single primrose, some pearls are scattered in my dark hair. My face is framed by a few loose strand of dark hair, they look nearly accidental, but they are not.

I look beautiful.

So un-Capitol-like. I look… fresh. Like a fairytale princess, but not one from Capitol fairytales, which are full of extravagance and glamour. District 12's fairytale princesses are naturally beautiful, our fairytales are as understated yet strong as our district is. They don't need a prep team to make them look beautiful. They just are. And that's what I look like.

Despite the burden that's placed on my shoulders today, I can't help but feel pleased at the job my team has done. "Thank you," I say to them with a big smile. "I look… beautiful."

"You really do," Effie says, she's crying already. She is genuinely moved, I realize. I have a feeling this is going to be a long day. "Aren't you excited to see your dress?" I'm not, really, but feel obliged to nod, so I do.

How sick is it that the bride hasn't seen her wedding dress until the wedding day? And never had anything to say in what it should look like?

I brace myself for what's to come. I'm fully prepared for something full of glitter and feathers in Capitol style – but I'm relieved when Cinna brings out a dress which is a lot simpler than I thought it would be. It's in cream white silk, with an intricate but very subtle pearl embroidery of primroses going down my chest, all the way down to the hem.

"It's beautiful," I whisper.

"That's not the dress they voted on, is it?" Effie says, surprised. She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing it.

"It is," Cinna says with a sly smile. "I just… took off some of the decorations. The feathers and… a few other things. This is what was underneath it all." He winks at me. I feel grateful that he knows I wouldn't want something garish and extravagant, but at the same time I feel afraid for him. What if…? He just shakes his head at me, placing a finger on my lips. "It's okay, don't worry," he whispers in my ear, so no one else can hear. I know I'm walking on a tight line today, and I'm suddenly terrified that Snow will view Cinna's manipulation of the dress as an act of defiance.

There is too much at stake today for me to be defiant.

Cinna helps me into my dress, and for the first time I get to take a look at myself in a full length mirror.

I really do look like a fairytale princess. My prep team is ecstatic, and Effie makes a high-pitched sound which is really annoying, but I know she means well. And Cinna… he just looks at me with approval in his eyes – and there's something else there as well.

He knows. He knows about the sword having over my head. He knows why I'm here today.

"You look perfect," he says.

"Are there any hidden flames or anything else in this dress?" I ask him, and Cinna shakes his head.

"No, this is just an ordinary wedding dress. You don't have to have special effects to stun everyone today, Katniss. Just being you is enough."

There's a knock on the door, and to my surprise my mother enters the room. She tears up at the sight of me in my white dream of a dress. "Primroses," she whispers, and smiles. Prim is being prepped in another room, together with the other bridesmaids. My mother also knows that ultimately, me volunteering for Prim is what brought me here today. She then surprises me by saying: "Do you mind if I have some time alone with Katniss?" I'm done with the prepping anyway, the ceremony starts in less than one hour. We're scheduled to be in the limo in 26 minutes. Everything has been planned meticulously down to the smallest detail. Nothing has been left to chance. Everyone leaves the room, one by one, kissing my cheek and wishing me the best of luck.

In the end there is only me and my mother left. This conversation just before the wedding ceremony is a District 12 tradition. I'm somewhat surprised that she's doing this, it wasn't on the time schedule, and I'm also a bit nervous about what she's going to say. Traditionally, this conversation was meant for the mother telling the daughter about her duties in the marriage bed. It is not uncommon for girls in District 12 to have premarital sex, but it's still frowned upon. And even though we now learn the basics of sexual intercourse in school, children in District 12 in particular are pretty sheltered. There are the ones who go to the slag heap, of course, but the majority don't.

She knows, of course, that I've shared a bed with Peeta for a year. We've lived partly in our hourse, partly at his place. She doesn't know, however, that we've never been intimate. That the only things that are going on in our bed are sleeping, talking and comforting. I know that our sleeping arrangements have been subject of much gossip in District 12, and I suspect that quite a few mothers have been criticizing my mother's lack of control over her daughter, resulting in the immorality of Peeta and me in effect living together before we are married.

"I just wanted this last moment together with you, alone, before… You become a married woman."

I look down at my hands, perfectly manicured. They are shaking.

"I know that today isn't what you'd thought it would be. And I know that you're doing this today at least in part to keep Prim and me safe, and I want you to know that I really appreciate what you are doing." My mother must be more perceptive that I'd thought. I've never discussed Snow's threats with her. "Haymitch told me," she explains, as if reading my mind. I didn't even know they'd talked.

She pauses, I can see that she's struggling to find the right words. "I'm sorry to have to ask you this question, Katniss. I don't want to embarrass you, but… Have you two been intimate before?"

I blush. "Mom, I…"

"I should've talked to you about this months ago, when you started sleeping in Peeta's bed. I've been a bad mother – again – for not doing it. But I talked to Haymitch back then, and apparently he'd had a… talk with Peeta. About birth control." I had no idea that talk had taken place at all. "And Peeta had told him that you weren't involved sexually. But he promised that he'd get something from Haymitch if the… need arose." I wonder why Peeta never told me this. "I talked to Haymitch again yesterday, and he said that Peeta never came back to talk to him about it. And you've never asked me for… help or advice. And I doubt that you're pregnant. So… am I correct in assuming you've never been intimate?"

I close my eyes. I've had quite a few bad conversations with my mother throughout the years, but this one is certainly the most embarrassing. I see that it's very uncomfortable for her as well, though, and recognize that she's doing it because despite everything, she cares. So I fight the urge to scold her, and answer her truthfully. I somehow find the courage to answer: "No." My voice is so low and insecure, I sound like a little girl. Not the girl on fire, the victor, the experienced killer – certainly not a woman, madly in love, on her wedding day.

"Do you know… how it's done?" I never ever thought I'd have this conversation with my mother. Or at least I always hoped I wouldn't have to. I'm absolutely mortified, and my mother looks quite embarrassed, too. Being a healer, I had perhaps expected her to be a bit less embarrassed - after all, she deals with life and death every day. But we've never had a close mother-daughter relationship, and I think that's overriding her training.

"Mom! We learned about it… In school. I know what goes where," I mutter.

"Making love is much more than what body parts go where, you know." My mother pauses. "It's nothing to be scared of. It's one of life's greatest experiences – making love with the man you love." Her voice has a strange undertone, of loss and longing. "Peeta loves you. He always has. You couldn't wish for a better man. I'm not quite sure… Where **you** are in all of this, and I'm sorry you didn't get the chance to figure out all this in your own time. Make your own decisions about your life partner. But Peeta's a good man – hold on to that. Take your time, don't rush anything. You don't need to do anything tonight, you know?" She reaches out one hand, lifting up my chin so that I meet her blue merchant eyes. They are full of… Love. Of caring. My mother has almost never looked at me like this, at least not since before my father died. "Don't be afraid. **Talk** to him. Tell him how you feel, how what he does makes you feel. As long as you communicate, you'll be fine. And take your time. Okay?"

I have to fight back my tears, I don't want to ruin my make-up. Portia said it was tear resistant, but you never know. "Okay. Thanks," I whisper, recognizing how difficult this conversation must've been for her as well.

"Take one of these pills every week." I want to protest when she hands me a bottle of pills, but she stops me. "No, please, Katniss, take it. Take one pill every week, and you won't conceive. You don't want children now, do you?" I shake my head, embarrassed, and hide the pills in my overnight bag.

There is a gentle knock on the door. It's Prim, looking lovely and a bit too grown-up in her light pink dress. She's already 14, I realize. Almost a little woman. "We have to go," she says, beaming. She's so excited about today. I haven't told her anything about why we're getting married today. She's very perceptive, I don't know what she suspects - but she loves Peeta, and she knows we've spent a lot of time together since our return to District 12. At least after the first difficult months after the Hunger Games, when I avoided him as much as possible. After the victory tour, and after Snow putting even more pressure on me to make our relationship seem real – and after finding out that the only chance of getting a decent night's sleep was sleeping together… We've been inseparable.

We hurry down to the limo, Effie is talking constantly about how we are one minute behind schedule. "We need to hurry up, won't want to keep Peeta waiting!" I know she's not really worried about keeping Peeta waiting, but about the TV schedule, which is meticulously planned, down to the last commercial break.

To my surprise, there are three limos waiting. I thought there would only be two. Me and my bridesmaids in one, my prep team and my mother in the second.

Then I see them.

Snow's body guards.

"There's been a change of plans," one of them says. "You're to ride in this limo alone, Ms Everdeen. Your bridesmaids will ride in limo number two without you."

I don't have to ask who's in the first limo.

I take a deep breath, and step into the limo, carefully making sure not to ruin my dress. The air inside the limo reeks of roses. I have to swallow back the vomit which is rising up from my stomach.

"Ms Everdeen," an all too familiar voice says, and I brace myself, finally looking at him. President Snow. I meet his snakelike eyes. "Congratulations. This is a big, big day for you." I don't know if he's using Effie's favorite phrase on purpose, or if she perhaps adopted it from him originally.

And the way he's looking at my dress… He knows it's not the one Panem voted on. I shiver.

"Thank you, Mr President. It certainly is."

"It is also a big day for all of Panem. And for me. It's not every day Panem's favorite star-crossed lovers get married, after all."

My throat is thick, I can't get any words out. I just nod.

"I wanted the two of us to have a little talk before the wedding. In private." I dread what's coming – whatever it is, it can't be good. "You've done well this last year, Katniss. You've kept up the act very well. Everyone in Panem seems convinced that the star-crossed lovers are real. This wedding is important to them."

Act. He knows it's an act.

"Oh yes, Katniss. I know it's an act, at least on your part. You still haven't managed to convince **me**. Which is why I'm here talking to **you** now, and not to Peeta." I can hardly breathe. My eyes are fixed on his, it's like he's hypnotizing me. I'm unable to look away, even though I want to. "I know that you sleep in the same bed every night. I also know that you have not had sex." There is no talk of "making love" here. I want to ask him how he knows, but there is no point. He'd never answer. Besides, I know there is only one possible answer to that question anyway – he's bugging our bedrooms. Perhaps even filming us.

I can't lie to him. "No."

"In another 37 minutes, you'll be a married woman, Katniss. And you do know what's expected of married women."

I'm starting to feel desperate. This conversation, although dealing with the same topic as the talk with my mother just a few minutes earlier, is still so very different. I feel like an animal trapped in a corner. "I'm sure we'll… Get around to it."

"Do you know what the other victors do? Well, most of them, anyway. The ones who are reasonably young and attractive. Do you know about their envelopes?"

I narrow my eyes. I'm confused, I don't really know what he's talking about. Why did he suddenly change the subject? I've seen those envelopes, but no one's ever told me what they mean. I've seen Finnick getting them – lots of them – during the Quarter Quell, whenever he wasn't mentoring. He, like me, didn't do much mentoring, as he lost both his tributes in the initial blood bath by the Cornucopia. Johanna got them. And Enobaria. And…

"Clearly you don't. You've always been so pure, Katniss. But you're 18 now, and the time for purity is over. Welcome to the real world."

"What do you mean?"

"I sell them," he says. His voice is so matter-of-fact he could've talked about selling chairs or carrots. "They offer their bodies to whoever opens their pockets to the Capitol. Sometimes they go on silent auction, too. And the most generous sponsor during the Hunger Games will get the chance to have the victor first after winning the games. There was only one exception… Peeta and you. We couldn't sell you two, because of the star-crossed lovers lie. The two top sponsors weren't happy about it. You will of course appreciate that I made quite a sacrifice for you."

My head is spinning.

"Deep breaths, Katniss. We don't want you to faint." I obey his order, hating myself. "You're fortunate, Katniss. If you play your cards right, you two won't become Capitol whores like the rest of the victors. At least not now."

"What do you want from me?" I'm finally able to say. The only reason I haven't broken down is that I don't want to give Snow the satisfaction of seeing my tears. That, and the way his eyes refuse to let mine go.

"I want you to consummate your marriage to Peeta. Tonight."

"Okay," I whisper.

"And don't try to fool me. I'll know if you do. If you try to make me look stupid, if you try to disobey, both you and Peeta will have envelopes waiting for you at the breakfast table tomorrow morning. I have two sponsors ready who would be more than willing to take both your and Peeta's virginities."

Only my deep breaths are keeping me from vomiting all over my dress.

"Plus the 76th Hunger Games are coming up, the reaping is in less than two months. Disobey me, and I'll make sure Prim's name is on every single slip of paper in that bowl. Am I making myself clear?"

I nod.

"Say it."

"Clear."

"Good. You've always been a sensible girl, Katniss. You do what you have to do to keep your family safe. Just look at this as just one more thing you have to do to keep them alive and happy. It's pretty simple, really, all you have to do is make sure that this marriage is real. Close your eyes and think of the Capitol if it helps."

I can't stop a strangled sound from exiting my throat.

"Don't cry, Katniss. This is the happiest day of your life, remember? "

I look out of the window, and realize we're almost there, on the square outside the presidential palace.

In a few minutes, I'll get married. And tonight, I'll have to sleep with Peeta.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you so much for all your likes, follows and reviews! Your reviews in particular are so inspiring and encouraging, please keep them coming!**_

_**And to the guest reviewer who wrote: "I wish someone was making me sleep with Peeta!" can I just say ROFL - I know what you mean, haha, but I don't think you'd want to be in Katniss' shoes in this fic, even though it's Peeta! There was another reviewer who wrote pretty much the same thing as well. LOL You made my day!**_

* * *

As I step out of the limo, my body doesn't feel like it's my own. It's been disconnected from my brain. The cheering from the immense crowd is deafening, and the sun is blinding me. There are people everywhere, the guards can just barely keep them back.

Peeta and I have become the Capitol's royalty. I truly am their fairytale princess, and this is my wedding.

Fortunately, after nearly two years of practice, my body knows what to do even though my mind is screaming at me to run, run, run, never come back. I smile that bright Capitol smile the tabloids love so much, wave at them, even blow a few kisses to the crowd. The crowd's reaction is immediate.

Focus, Katniss. You just have to get through this day.

And this night.

Don't mess up.

I feel someone touching my arm, and it takes every bit of will power I have to keep myself from drawing back from Snow's arm touching mine. I look at him, and again I meet his cold eyes, even though his smile is grandfather-like. "I am to give you away, Katniss," he whispers in my ear. "Didn't they tell you?"

No, they didn't, and I'm sure he knows. The idea of Snow giving me away, instead of my father who was killed working in his unsafe mines, who died so that the Capitol would get cheap coal for its factories, is revolting. But I have no choice but to smile back and place one foot ahead of the other. Step by step. I force my hands to stop shaking, and to smile, as if this is the biggest day of my life.

The Hunger Games are nothing compared to this. Back then, all that was at stake was my own life, and after a while Peeta's. Now, the fate of both of our families lies on my shoulders alone.

The presidential palace is where the ceremony will take place – the City Hall was, despite its size, still not large and glamorous enough for such an important media event. The immense ceremonial hall is filled with flowers. White roses from Snow's genetically engineered garden. The smell is overwhelming. Only the fact that I'd prepared for this is keeping me from retching all over my dress. I glance down at it, at Cinna's intricate primrose pearl embroidery.

Primroses. Keep thinking about primroses.

I can't see clearly, I just see shapes around me – of thousands of people clothed in garish colors, wearing too much make-up, and I hear their admiring ooh'ing and aah'ing. Surprised gasps, too, I guess they didn't expect this dress, it's not the one they voted for. I am still one walking act of defiance, even today.

Snow's hand is ice cold on my shoulder.

The music is ringing in my ear, it's too loud, too much. Again, no one asked me. This is how it's done in the Capitol.

And up there by the City Mayor, standing in a dark tuxedo, he is.

Peeta.

He looks awestruc - I guess he approves of my dress. Of **me**. His eyes are brimming with tears. I look at him, desperately, I know that only he can see what's truly going on in my mind. He and Snow. Peeta narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly, but is smart enough not to show his confusion. He knows something is wrong, but I can't tell him what it is.

I realize I'll have to try to keep this away from him. He has to believe that what happens tonight is real.

He looks so handsome, yet still so young, standing there. My Peeta. Whatever we've been through, he's helped me through the storm. The Hunger Games, the victory tour, the mentoring, the nightmares. He'll help me through this storm as well. Just keep thinking of Peeta. Peeta and primroses. His eyes are fixed on mine, he's smiling happily, and I feel myself returning the smile. As Snow gives me away, with a kiss on each cheek, I feel the sickening scent of blood again. The warning he gives me is unmistakable, and I give him a small nod in return.

I'll play my part.

I can't hold back a small sigh of relief when Snow's cold arm is replaced Peeta's warm one. He looks questioningly at me, but I just give his hand a small squeeze.

Not now.

I can't really hear what the mayor is saying, but I think I say "I do" when I'm supposed to. My voice is surprisingly strong and even, I sound so sure of myself. Peeta's voice is deep and clear, no hesitation.

And thus, with a few words and two signatures, we are husband and wife.

"You may now kiss the bride," the mayor says, and this at least is something I can do. We've kissed many times with an audience, of course, but this also is something we do nearly every night, in the privacy of our bedroom. But today, we'll have to give them something extra, something more.

It is, after all, our wedding day.

Peeta's blue eyes are full of love, but there is something else there as well… Well hidden, is there a trace of sadness? This day isn't what he'd hoped it would be, either. That's another thing to hold on to. But he pulls me into his embrace, our bodies so close, I put my arms around his waist while he holds my head carefully between hands, low on the sides of my skull and jaw, taking control. Our lips meet, and the taste of him is familiar, safe. He pulls away briefly after a few seconds, I'm surprised that he'd allow this very important kiss to be so short, but he just smiles, he's so close I can physically feel his smile against my lips, then kisses me again – this time it's deeper, harder. Passionate.

The audience cheers wildly. Rose petals are released above us, like genetically engineered snow they fall all around us. Only Peeta's strong body tightly pressed against mine keeps me from falling, I'm so grateful he's here to be my anchor, my savior. I get lost in his kiss, trying very hard to shut everything out.

When he finally releases me for the second time, I gasp for air, and so does he. His pupils are dilated. He brushes my cheek lovingly with one hand. It is wet, I must've been crying. I hope I can pass them off as being tears of joy, today on my wedding day.

As we walk to the celebration hall where the wedding reception is to take place, parting a sea of people, everything around me is a blur. People are cheering, congratulating, Prim is ecstatic and looks all too beautiful. I suddenly think that I have to get her back to District 12, out of view from the Capitol, she's enough of a target already. She should attract as little attention as possible.

Cameras are everywhere. Roses, too. Throughout it all, I cling to Peeta's hand. He's my compass and my rock. He showers me with kisses, his warm hands keep me steady, gently moving me on.

Dinner is extravagant, I had expected nothing less. There are so many courses, I barely get a taste of all of them, yet I'm quickly full. I see Capitol people regularly getting up from the table, I know they are going to throw up, then return with empty stomachs to have even more food. I think of the children starving in 12, and it makes me lose whatever little appetite I had. I have one glass of champagne, but quickly find that I have to stay away from alcohol for the rest of the evening. The bubbles go straight to my head, and I can't afford to lose control, not today.

Perhaps I should have another glass of champagne tonight. Or two. Perhaps it will make it easier.

Don't go there, Katniss.

There are numerous speeches, of course. Snow's speech makes my skin crawl, yet I must pretend to be moved by his account of the star-crossed lovers and how we won the hearts of all of Panem. My mother's is short, and she's very obviously nervous, but I'm grateful that she tried. Peeta's father holds a speech which I'm sure is boring for the Capitol guests, but which is very personal and moving for us. "You've always followed your heart, Peeta." Yes, he has.

Even today he is.

Haymitch gives a speech, too. It's quite early in the program, which I'm sure is no coincidence, as he's likely to pass out from all the liquor before we get to the dessert. I'm afraid that his speech will be rebellious or provoking, but I'm relieved when it's relatively short and without much that can fuel the flames in the district. As our eyes meet for just one split second over the flower decorations, I see that he knows what's at stake here, and he's trying everything he can not to make this even worse for us.

I'm surprised when Haymitch is still conscious after dinner. He manages to talk to me alone in the garden for just a few minutes, which is no easy feat. "How are you holding up?" he whispers in my ear.

"Okay." I murmur back.

"What did Snow say to you in the limo?"

I don't answer.

"What did he threaten you with?"

"You know what he threatened me with."

"Prim?"

I nod. "And… envelopes."

Haymitch swears. "Is he…"

"No, not as long as I do what he says," I whisper. A short pause. "Did he do it to you?"

"Yes, of course."

"Oh, Haymitch…"

"Water under the bridge. Or liquor under the bridge, whatever. Did your mother talk to you? Did she give you the pills?" I nod. I don't know how Haymitch understood what Snow's threatening me to do, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised. He's been in this game for a long, long time. Even now, he's doing everything he can to keep us safe. "I'm really sorry it's come to this, Katniss. But better Peeta than…" He can't finish his sentence. "Does he know?"

I shake my head. "No. I'll have to try and keep it from him."

"Are you sure that is a good idea?"

"None of this is a good idea." I look over his shoulder, and see Peeta approaching me together with Effie. "There he is." Carefully hiding my feelings, I walk up to Peeta and kiss him.

"They're looking for us, Katniss, the first dance is ours."

Oh no, I hate dancing. At least I hate Capitol ballroom dancing. Snow hired a ballroom dancing teacher for us, some fool from the Capitol, and we've practiced for weeks. I'm terrible at it, but know I'll have to do my best. Everything for the show. And Peeta's strong hands and blue eyes help me through it, once again.

* * *

We are among the first to leave the party, I assume that being star-crossed lovers we are supposed to not be able to wait until we can be alone. Although I'm very happy to leave the party, I'm also dreading this night.

How am I supposed to keep Peeta from finding out what Snow is making us do? How can I fool him into thinking that this is a decision I've made on my own? How can I seduce him without him suspecting why I'm all of a sudden throwing myself at him, which I've never done that before, despite the two of us sharing a bed for a year?

Cinna is the only one in the bridal suite, my prep team are still at the party. He helps me out of my dress. It's not awkward, he's seen me naked so many times before. He gives me a white towel, and I wrap it around my body as he removes the primrose and the pearls from my hair. My hair now flows freely over my naked shoulders. Cinna looks serious, sad even.

"Snow told me to give you this." He hands me a nightgown in white silk. It's short, only barely reaching my knees, the neckline cut much lower than I'd have liked it to be. I guess it's appropriate attire for a wedding night, but it's not something I'd ever wear voluntarily. Katniss the huntress prefers to sleep in an old t-shirt, but I guess the t-shirt in my overnight bag will have to stay in the bag tonight. It's clear this isn't a gift, it's yet another order.

"Good luck," he says, kissing me on the forehead. Then he leaves, and I'm all alone. I know Peeta will be here shortly. My stomach is in knots.

My t-shirt will have to stay in the bag, but I pretend to rummage through the bag looking for my hairbrush, and sneak one pill out of the glass as I do so. As soon as I'm in the shower, I slip it into my mouth and swallow it with warm water from the shower. The water also hides my tears as I do.

I wash away all the layers of makeup, all the perfume I never wanted. I even found a shower setting which doesn't smell anything, I'm surprised it existed at all. I wash off as much of the Capitol creation as I can, yet I still feel dirty. I stay in the shower for ages. When I finally have to get out, I feel dizzy. I quickly blow dry my hair, and obediently put on the nightgown, like a good Capitol whore. After a moment's hesitation, I decide not to put on the clean underwear I'd brought with me to the bathrom. My face is burning with shame.

As I come out of the bathroom, I'm not surprised to see that Peeta's waiting for me. He's taken off his tuxedo jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He looks tired, he's slumped down in one of the two massive armchairs, flipping through channel after channel on the TV, but footage of us is on all of them. He sighs and turns the TV off, then looks up at me. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out, he's frozen. I guess he didn't expect me to wear this… thing. He expected my faded, soft t-shirt as usual. He's never seen me sleep in anything else. I can literally see how his brain tries to work out just what this means. "You look wonderful. How are you doing? I mean… It's been a long day."

"Yeah. I'm... good."

"What was your favorite part?"

I don't really know what to answer. The day has been a nightmare. "The dress," I finally say. "The primroses on the dress."

He gets up from the chair, gives me a quick kiss, then says: "You looked amazing in that dress. You still do." I can tell that's him trying to get me to say something about why I'm wearing the nightgown, which is very unlike anything he's seen me sleep in before, but I don't bite.

"Want to go to bed? I'm beat," he says.

I nod, not trusting my voice to speak. He goes to the bathroom, takes a quick shower, and when he gets back, he's wearing only his boxer shorts – it's what he usually sleeps in. I've seen him like this so many times, but it's never been like this. He slips underneath duvet, and with a well-practiced movement snuggles up to me in his – our – favorite position: Him lying with his chest and belly against my back, holding me tight with one arm over my waist, his knees fitted behind mine. He kisses my neck a few times, then whispers, "Goodnight, Katniss," and switchs off the light.

Peeta, ever the gentleman. Even on our wedding night he doesn't make a move.

I swallow hard. I have no idea what to do. How to take that next step.

He must be exhausted, I can tell by the small random, jerky movements in his limbs that he's about to fall asleep already. I know we're being watched. Vomit is rising in my throat. How I wish that I'd had some experience. Any experience. I swallow hard. I have to do something before he falls asleep.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I wiggle my ass, just a little bit. I settle in towards his crotch, as if it's an accidental movement on my part. I hold my breath, waiting to hear if I get a reaction. His breathing quickens just a little bit, so he's probably not asleep yet after all. I can tell by how his breaths are more shallow than they were before that he's trying to control his breathing, not wanting to let me know he's awake.

Encouraged, I do it again. This time, he moves, as if casually, pretending to be still asleep, so that his lower body is no longer in contact with mine. His upper hand, which was around my waist, moves down to my thigh, inadvertently moving my nightgown higher up on my thigh. His breath catches, and I know he has felt through my thin nightgown that I'm not wearing any underwear. If I'd been a seductress, I suppose I would've known what to do now, but I have no idea.

This is Peeta, Katniss. It's Peeta. You don't have to be scared of him. Ever.

What would I do if this was real?

My eyes tear up. I can't think about that. For better or for worse, this **is** real. This is what we have become. We are the reality that the Capitol made us.

And he loves me. I have to do everything I can not to hurt him.

"Katniss?" His voice is somewhat husky. "Are you awake?"

I don't answer, instead I move my upper thigh forwards so that the hem of my nightgown "accidentally" slips even further up my thigh.

He pulls it back down. "Katniss. I know you're awake."

Busted.

I turn towards him, lying on my back. The moonlight from the window is reflected on my skin, making my nightgown almost glow. He can't keep himself from looking down at my cleavage, even if it's just for one split second.

I can only just make out the features of his face in the darkness. His eyes are huge and black. Hesitatingly, I move a hand up to his face, cupping his chin, leaning in for a kiss. The kiss is slow, soft, and he opens his mouth for me, inviting my tongue.

We've done this before, many times. But the setting has never been like this. During our kiss I move my other hand down to his chest, finding the few light hairs there that his prep team actually didn't remove, playing with them. Going laterally, one finger finds a nipple.

He makes a strangled sound, and breaks the kiss. "What are you doing, Katniss?"

I don't answer. Instead my hand trails further down, to his stomach. Quick as a snake, his hand has caught my wrist, removing it from his stomach and keeping it from trailing down to where it was going - his boxer shorts.

Suddenly I realize that my cheeks are wet with tears. I'm almost panicking, I curse myself for being a terrible actress. Why can't I even pull this off, seducing a half-naked man, sleeping in my bed, who's in love with me? What's wrong with me?

"What's going on, Katniss?"

I open my mouth, but I can't speak. Peeta sits up, and pulls me up with him. He holds me tight as I cry against his chest – heavy, heartbreaking sobs. When I finally calm down, exhausted, he strokes my hair. It's so soothing.

"What did Snow say to you in that limo?" I've forgotten that Peeta's been in this game for two years as well. He may look naïve, but he's had to grow up quickly, and he's far from stupid. He's very perceptive of my emotions, he always was. It was just I who wasn't perceptive to his.

"Nothing. He wished us good luck."

"Don't lie to me, Katniss. You were never any good at it." His voice is stern now, in the darkness. I hide against his chest.

I can hide, but I cannot lie anymore. "We have to… Be together. Tonight."

He takes a very deep breath, holds it in for what seems like an eternity. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Why?"

"We are married."

"I mean, why would he care?"

"It is to be… a true marriage. He won't be mocked. Not again."

His fingertips are digging into the skin of my upper arm and back now, it's getting painful. "It's his way of controlling us, even when it comes to this," he whispers, and I hear… hatred in his voice. It's something I've never heard before, not from him. Not from my kind Peeta, who always sees the best in everyone.

"And what if we don't? What would he do to us?"

"He will make sure Prim becomes a tribute in the upcoming Hunger Games. And sell our virginities to the highest paying sponsors. Tomorrow morning." I'm so tired, I can't keep the horrible truth away from him anymore, nor can I sugarcoat it.

Peeta makes a strange yelping sound, and suddenly runs towards the bathroom. I can hear him throwing up in there, followed by the toilet flushing, and heavy sobs.

I give him some privacy before I follow after him. He's sitting on the floor by the toilet, his back up against the wall, his knees bent, his face hidden behind them.

"Peeta?" I sink down on my knees next to him, but don't touch him. He looks up at me, his face covered in tears.

"I used to dream about making love to you, Katniss. You have no idea how many times I've…" his voice trails off for a moment, then he continues, "I've loved you ever since I was five years old, and I've dreamed of sleeping with you ever since I was 12. But in my dreams it was always loving and tender and passionate. It was never… Like this."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I tried to… I hoped you wouldn't notice."

"Don't be sorry, Katniss," he answers. "You're not the one who should be sorry. It's not your fault. How could you possibly be able to hide the fact that you don't really want to sleep with me?"

I look down. Don't I want to? I have no idea.

"I can't force myself on you, Katniss. I could never… It would be like rape."

"No. Never like rape. Don't ever think that." My voice is low, I hardly recognize it myself. "I think this is even worse for you, because you've been… dreaming of it. Wanting it… for so long. And I haven't. I haven't… let myself consider it. But I just want you to know that I think, in time – if this hadn't happened – I think it would eventually have happened. On its own."

"Really?" He sounds hopeful now, like a little boy. This time I'm the one stroking his hair.

"It was always going to be you," I whisper. This brings another round of sobs from Peeta, and I hold him tight, help him through the tears like I've helped him through so many nightmares in the past. I think about what my mother told me earlier today – that if we can communicate, **talk** to each other, we'll be okay. She never imagined anything like this happening, I'm sure of it, but her advice still makes sense.

"Can you promise me something, Peeta?"

"Anything." He's stopped crying now, he's just holding me close as we're sitting on the cold bathroom tiles.

"You have to be honest with me tonight. Talk to me. Never lie to me. Tell me the truth. Trust me. And I'll do the same thing back. Okay?" He releases me slightly, looking confused as our eyes meet. "If we're going to get through tonight, we'll have to do so together. We have to talk. You have to tell me how you feel."

He nods. "You too?"

"Yeah."

He closes his eyes, breathing heavily. "Okay."

I'm relieved, yet my throat constricts.

He gets up from the floor. "I have to brush my teeth," he murmurs, and I understand - after all, he just vomited. "Why don't you… go back to the bedroom?"

I do. Perhaps he needs some time alone. I don't really know what to do, so I just get into bed again, curling up underneath the duvet, still in the darkness. When Peeta comes back, he surprises me by lighting candles – by the bed, on the table, on the fireplace. He's trying to set the mood, I realize. Was this in one of his dreams too? I wonder.

I just can't think about it.

"Peeta, are you… Sure about that? I mean, we'll… they'll…" I can't say anything else, but I know he understands - that I'm pretty sure someone is watching. I can tell by the way he's studying the walls that he's thinking the same thing. Then he shrugs and sits down on the bed.

"I need to see you when I do this. Let them watch."

I nod, the lump in my throat is massive. He's right. Even though it hurts to feel **seen**, we can't be fumbling around in the dark, not tonight. And by providing some light, we're also making very sure they'll see that we actually do what we've been told to do.

"You look so beautiful in the candlelight," he whispers, before he lies down next to me.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Thank you for all your reviews - I haven't had the chance to answer all of them, but I do read and cherish every single one.**_

* * *

"There's no one here but you and me. Okay?" He says, holding my face between his strong baker's hands, keeping me grounded.

"Okay," I breathe back.

The kiss, despite it all, takes my breath away.

We're back where we started - together in this bed. But now no one's feigning sleep. The walls are down, the pretending is over. I lick my lips, they are so dry. What on earth do we do next? I try to do what I did earlier, touch his chest, this time with both of my hands. Slowly, one hand creeps lower, to his stomach. I make very sure the duvet is drawn up to cover our bodies, and that's where I intend it to stay. I'm very uncomfortable with deliberately letting anyone see this, but at the same time, I know they probably have night vision technology available anyway, so the darkness would only be fooling us into thinking no one could see, when in fact they can.

I can't help but laugh, although it's strained and short. "At least it's not being aired live on primetime TV throughout Panem." At least it's better than the cave.

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but just makes a strangled sound when one of my fingers reaches the elastics of his boxershorts. Then he tries again. "Katniss, what if I… can't?"

"What do you mean can't?" I'm confused, I don't know what he means. Communicate, we have to communicate. I wish I had even the slightest idea of what I'm doing here.

"What if I can't… get... hard."

"Is that… um, usually a problem?"

"No," he says sheepishly. "In fact, quite the… opposite. But with the stress, and… the situation… What if…"

His blue eyes have a desperate look in them, there is so much at stake – what if his body does indeed betray him? I don't know much about how a man's body works, but at least I understand that it's pretty essential that this doesn't happen. I can't let him see how scared I am. "It won't happen," I whisper in his ear. As I move in close to him, I breathe in the warm, heady scent that is Peeta. For the first time today, I actually feel good about being dizzy. "Why don't you… touch me?" I wish that I were an experienced seductress, but sadly I'm not. I feel foolish, but he doesn't seem to think that I am.

"Is it okay?"

"Yes. In your dreams, what did you… Do to me? Why don't you do that now?"

He kisses me again, deeper, more hungrily now. "I would often… do this," he whispers, as one hand travels down the neckline, touching the skin near my right aureola ever so lightly. I can't keep the moan from reaching my lips. I feel embarrassed, that my body would do that just from one touch, but he immediately smiles and looks relieved, so I guess it's okay. When his hand reaches lower, to cup my breast, we are both breathing more heavily.

"I never thought it would feel… Like this," he whispers, and this time he's the one who's looking embarrassed. The nightgown, the "gift" from Snow, suddenly seems so constricting, it's like it's suffocating me. I don't want the fabric anywhere near my skin ever again. I quickly slip if off, throwing it as far away from the bed as I possibly can. Peeta gasps at my sudden movement, I guess he didn't expect me to shed my clothes quite this quickly. He can't keep from staring at my breasts, his eyes look like they'll pop out of his head soon at this rate. "You're so beautiful," he groans, and when I take a quick, stolen look down his body, it certainly looks like we don't have to worry about his getting erect.

All that's between us now are his boxers, very obviously tenting, but he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to take them off. Instead we settle for some more kissing, our hands roaming each other's backs. One of his hands sneaks further down at one point, across one of my buttocks, and I flinch. "Sorry," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay. It was just… unexpected."

"You have to tell me if... I do too much. Okay? Promise me?" I nod. Peeta's whispers in my ear: "I wish you wouldn't be here with me, do this with me, only because you have to. I wish you'd do this because you wanted to." I know he's whispering because he hopes, against hope, that the microphones we are quite certain are here somewhere in this room won't pick it up.

This is not a night for crying, so I blink the tears away.

"I wish this was different, too," I whisper back. "But if it had to be anyone, I'm glad it's you. Can you hold on to that?"

"What about Gale?"

I brush my lips lightly against his collarbone. "What about him? Whatever we had, or might have had, is long gone. I wouldn't be with him even if I could." In fact, my "cousin" Gale was at my wedding, along with his new girlfriend. I wouldn't be surprised if they're still partying. I didn't get the chance to talk to them, but they looked happy. I'm not sure if he'll be faithful to her, but that's not my problem. We have grown apart - when we didn't have hunting and our struggle for survival in common anymore, it turned out there wasn't much left. He's in the mines every day, working long, dangerous shifts. I fight against boredom, nightmares, and the futility of mentoring teenagers being prepped for murder.

I have to keep his mind off Gale, keep him on track. "You have a head start on me," I murmur, as I kiss my way down to the nipple I touched earlier. "You've been dreaming about this for... years." It feels strange to think that he dreamed of sleeping with me back when I was really just a child, as was he. "I didn't. What do I do?" I know I'm blushing now, I can feel my cheeks growing hot. "I... don't know what to do. What you... like."

"Well, what you're doing already feels pretty good," he says, his voice shaking ever so slightly. We're not whispering anymore, but we still keep our voices low. They'll probably hear us no matter what we do. My tongue flickers over his nipple, and he can't keep himself from bucking against me, which means I come into contact with his cock for the first time. It feels huge and rock hard against my thigh, and I can't help but flinch. Peeta immediately pulls back when I notices my reation, and his eyes are full of tears. "I'll have to hurt you," he says, softly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I say, looking into his eyes as I do to help assure him that I truly mean what I say. "We've been through the Hunger Games, I mean, we both nearly died... What's a little pain?" But we both know that whatever pain will be involved, much or little, isn't the main reason we're both apprehensive. The emotional impact of what we're about to do, what we're forced to do, is much more daunting.

I take a deep breath, and then my hand finds its way down to his boxershorts. It doesn't venture inside, I'm not brave enough for that quite yet, but I hesitatingly feel the length of him through the soft cotton fabric. I've felt his erection before, early in the morning in my back sometimes, but never like this. I testingly stroke up and down along the length of his shaft, and I'm rewarded by a strangled moan.

This isn't so bad.

I do it again, and get another moan. I suddenly feel... powerful. I can do something that makes Peeta feel this good. I look up at his face as I stroke for the third time, meeting his eyes, and I'm amazed, and also slightly scared, of the passion I see in them. "That feels pretty good, too," he says with a dark smile, and I smile back. I'm relieved he still hasn't taken off his boxershorts, though, I'm not sure if I'm ready for the full impact of being naked together in this bed quite yet.

"Is it okay if I... return the favor?" This suddenly reminds me that, even if he's still clothed, I'm not. Hesitatingly, I nod. "Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" I nod again, even though it's futile, really - we both know he **can't** stop. His mouth catches mine again, we kiss deeply, lazily, yet passionately. While keeping my lips occupied, his hands slide down my body, stopping first at my breasts. I moan into his mouth as his hands find both my nipples, pinching them simultaneously. His hands are cupping both of my breasts, and again his lower body is grinding into me, but this time I don't flinch. Then one of his hands leaves the breast it was working on, traveling further down. I break the kiss as I feel it touch my belly, knowing where it's going to go, and he immediately pauses his actions, meeting my eyes. His eyes ask for a silent permission. I kiss him again, I just want to get lost in his kiss, and that's the permission he's looking for.

I'm surprised that, when his hand gets so close to the junction between my legs, my thighs part as if on their on volition, allowing him access. No one has ever touched me like this, not even myself. The whimpering sound I make as his finger first touches my sex gets lost in his mouth, swallowed up and perhaps counterbalanced by his own grunting sound. He touches me very lightly, as if he's afraid to hurt me.

Then he breaks the kiss, panting. I'm lying on my back with him hovering above me. "I need to look at your face, Katniss," he whispers in my ear. "I need to see how it makes you feel. What you like."

A part of me resents him seeing me like this, seeing me so vulnerable. I'm afraid he'll find me ridiculous or weak when I can't control how my body reacts to his touch. But then I think about how I felt when I made him moan just by one touch, and realize it's probably the same for him, so I nod. "Okay," I whisper back, and I'm surprised by how husky and raw my voice sounds. "Tell me if it makes you feel good, okay?" I nod, but in that very moment he moves his fingers around down there, finding something new, a place where it would seem all the nerve endings of my body meet. My body suddenly twists, my legs moving, my head is thrown back. I'm stunned by my own reaction, and so apparently is Peeta. "Wow," he whispers. "I'll try that again." And he does, this time the reaction is even more violent, as he uses two fingers to increase the pressure instead of just one.

I have no idea what he's doing to me, what these feelings are. I never knew it could be like this. His touch is too much, so much it's almost painful, yet not enough. He takes his time, exploring every fold, every piece of skin, all the while judging my reactions to figure out what I like best. He's even driving the cameras away from my mind, I've stopped caring if anyone's watching, or if anyone hears me - even though my reactions to his hands are so intensely personal, that in the light of the day I'd be mortified if anyone knew or heard.

"I want to... see you," he says.

My immediate reaction is to answer: "But you already see me," but he shakes his head.

"Down... there," he says, gesturing with his head. "Okay?"

I blush furiously, but at the same time I don't want him to stop whatever it is he's doing. "Okay."

"Keep the duvet up just a little bit, will you? To let in some light." I suddenly think that if this was just us, alone, no cameras, he wouldn't have cared about the duvet at all, but I appreciate him giving us - me - as much privacy as he's able to. He doesn't want to expose my body any more than he has to, and for that I'm grateful. Suddenly he's in between my legs, spreading them even further. It's awkward with the duvet, but he manages to make some kind of tunnel as I duck under it myself, allowing light to come in on both sides of my head. I meet his eyes, huge and black in the darkness. "Oh my..." he whispers, as he sees this secret part of me for the first time, and somehow those two words convey that this is everything he's ever dreamed of, and more. Then he lowers his head towards me, and just a split second before his tongue touches me, I understand what he's going to do. A scream is torn from my throat, I had no idea that doing **this** was even possible. No one ever told me, but apparently someone told Peeta. I'm not sure how much he really sees down there, considering the poor light, but it doesn't seem to matter, because within seconds he has me thrashing about in the bed. At one point he tries to pull back, but I put my hands on his head, on his blond, thick hair, and push his face back between my legs. I'd be mortified if it hadn't felt so amazing. He makes a humming sound against me as I do this, perhaps it's a low laugh, I don't know, but it vibrates into my very core.

Then he slips the tip of one finger inside me, testingly. The sound that escapes my throat in that moment is surely not human. He stops, keeping his finger absolutely still. "Is this okay, Katniss?" he asks, from under the duvet, and I force myself to look down at him. He looks questioningly at me. "Did I go to far?" I shake my head, breathlessly. He murmurs something under his breath that I can't quite hear, but it's something about "wet", and I'm suddenly mortified because I, too, feel, how wet I am. That's so embarrassing.

"I'm sorry," I whimper, and this time he moves up in the bed, we are face to face again.

"What is it?" he whispers.

"I'm sorry I'm so... wet down there."

This time it's definitely a chuckle, close to my ear. "You feel amazing," he assures me, still whispering, hoping these words are for my ears only. "It's only... natural to get wet when you're excited. I love it. It's like a... compliment." I realize just how little I know about this, about my body, what we're getting ourselves into. Then he kisses me. I taste myself on his lips, and discover that it doesn't taste bad at all. It's just a foreign, strange taste. He's lying on top of me, his lower body still clad in boxershorts, pressing into mine. My thighs are spread widely, my knees and legs pressing him closer to me.

My fingers slip underneath the elastic of his boxershorts, trying to push them down, but we're pressed so tightly together that I can't move them. I make a frustrated sound into his mouth, and we break the kiss. He puts more weight on his arms, releasing the pressure on me somewhat. He then sits up, kneeling in the bed. The duvet falls off as a result, and I know this means we're exposing our bodies to the camera, but at this point I'm beyond caring. Besides, perhaps we should show them just enough to really convince Snow and whichever other perverts are watching that we are in fact really doing this, we're not faking. Somewhat hesitatingly I push his boxershorts down, releasing his erection. With a little help from Peeta, he's as naked as I am, and he quickly tugs the duvet over us again.

Now we're finally lying naked together, side by side, in bed. I can hardly breathe. Peeta holds my gaze, he won't let me go, and at the same time, he leads one of my hands downwards on his body. As my fingers close around the length him, my breath catches.

I wasn't prepared for this. The heat, the hardness, yet the contrasting softness of his skin, how thick he is around, the length... I'm scared and excited at the same time. For the first time, I do the math in my head, and I can't really understand how this... **he**... is going to fit inside me. He told me that he was going to hurt me, and suddenly, perhaps irrationally for a victor, I'm scared.

He must've seen it in my eyes, because he kisses my forehead, stroking my hair again and again, murmuring comforting sounds in my ear. He's holding me more like a scared child now, not as a lover. The only thing breaking the illusion is his cock, burning hot and hard against my stomach. "We should've had more time," he whispers, barely audible. "We shouldn't have to be rushed... Into this. I'm so sorry."

I'm sorry, too. Not necessarily sorry that we're here together, but that we're here under these circumstances. "We have to make sure that... this... isn't something he can use to drive us apart later," I whisper. Suddenly, I'm afraid that we're not ready for this, and that this night is something that Snow can eventually use to break us, to drive a wedge between us that can never be removed. I won't let it happen. We **do** have a choice - and that's what we make of this night. In a way it's just prostitution of a different sort, but instead, I try very hard to think of it as something that we do **together**. We may not have chosen the time and the place, but eventually, being together in this way is a choice we would've made together, freely. In this moment, I feel certain that we would. I whisper all these things to him in his ear, lying on top of him now, hiding the movements of my mouth from the camera with my long, dark hair hanging like a curtain around his head and face. Shielding us somewhat from the world. My body is shaking, he feels so hot underneath me, and his cock is between my legs, so close. I'm not really sure what I'm doing, I'm grinding slowly against him, as he pants underneath me.

I'm suddenly driven by an urgent need to feel him, to **know** him. Know him the way he now knows me. I get down from him, and he moans in frustration, until he realizes what I'm up to. This time, both my hands are exploring him, and this time, there is less hesitation, less fear, more curiosity. I stroke carefully at first, afraid I'll hurt him. My hands move like butterflies, exploring every bit of skin, these body parts that are so foreign to me. He tasted me, and he seemed to like doing it. I certainly liked being on the receiving end of it. I wonder if I can taste him as well? I hesitatingly flicker my tongue over the head of his cock, and the loud moan he makes just then makes me feel powerful, complete. It also has another unexpected effect - another surge of wetness down there. Pleased with my success, I move down to do it again, but I'm surprised when he sits up and gently, but decisively, moves my hands away. "Keep doing that and I'll embarrass myself," he says hoarsely, and it takes a few seconds until I realize what he means. I blush. He blushes, too. "It just feels... Too good," he explains.

He looks at me, suddenly serious. We sit facing each other, his hands supporting my head, keeping it still. My mouth is partly open, as is his. His pupils are enormous. I know what must come. "Are you ready?" he whispers, and I can see that there are tears in his eyes, but he won't let them roll down his face, not now.

I am ready. And I'm not.

Slowly, I nod.

* * *

_**I know, I know, I'm such a tease! LOL You'll have to wait for the next chapter for more, sorry. If you review, I just might post the final chapter faster. **_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Here is the fourth and final chapter. I hope you'll like it!_**

**_Just to get you in the right mood, here are the last paragraphs of chapter three:_**

_"He looks at me, suddenly serious. We sit facing each other, his hands supporting my head, keeping it still. My mouth is partly open, as is his. His pupils are enormous. I know what must come. "Are you ready?" he whispers, and I can see that there are tears in his eyes, but he won't let them roll down his face, not now._

_I am ready. And I'm not._

_Slowly, I nod."_

* * *

Now that we've finally gotten this far, my body is suddenly shaking. Peeta's holding me so close. His face shows a confusing mixture of emotions - excitement, fear, sadness, passion. But above all, there is one thing.

"I love you," he says. I look helplessly at him, and when I open my lips to say something, he just shushes me softly, putting his index finger lightly on my lips. "Please don't say anything. I don't want you to feel... pressured into saying something. I just wanted you to know." I stare up at him, wordlessly. Then it's as if he remembers something. His lips pressed tightly against my ear, he whispers in a voice so low I can barely hear him: "I don't have anything. To keep you from becoming... pregnant."

"Don't worry about it," I breathe back.

When this final thing has been brought out in the open, there is nothing left. We both know what will happen next, but not quite... how. His large, hard body is lying on top of my smaller frame again, his cock brushing against the slippery, wet skin of my sex. The head slips over that bundle of nerves he found earlier, and I arch my back, my head pressing into the bed. A groan escapes his lips, I think he's close to the limit his of self-control. Yet he does it again, sliding his cock over me, again and again, making me writhe underneath him. I look up at him, desperate for **something**, and I've almost forgotten where we are, why we are here. His face is contorted as if in pain.

Then I realize he's waiting for my permission. "Peeta... Peeta..." I pant, but I can't find the words.

"I love it when you say my name like that," he groans back, and I feel another surge of wetness caused just by his words.

"Please, just... Do it. Come inside me. I'm ready."

He stops, suddenly. His eyes meet mine, hold them. "Tell me if it hurts, okay? I'll... try to stop." Just the fact that he says he'll try to stop, not that he **will** stop, tells me he's very far gone already. I try to nod, but again my head is thrown backwards as he slips two fingertips inside me, just inside my opening. All that escapes from my throat is a whimper, as the head of his cock slowly pushes inside between his two fingers. It feels impossibly wide and thick, and he removes his fingertips now that they've directed him to where he wants to be, needs to be, and the pressure is reduced at least somewhat.

He keeps his body absolutely still, allowing my body to adjust. My hands are on his back, clutching him. I feel how tense his back muscles are, and I realize just how much of an effort he's making not to hurt me. "Fuck, you feel so good, Katniss," he hisses, and the use of that first word alone, so un-Peeta-like, tells me he's tantalizingly close to throwing caution to the wind. He moves again, slowly pushing into me. I panic for a split second - he just feels too big, this is so sudden, it hurts, only this morning doing **this** was the last thing on my mind. Yet here we are. He must see something in my face, perhaps feel it around his cock, because he stops again, whispering in my ear: "I'm sorry, Katniss. I'm so sorry. Do you want me to stop?"

I do. And I don't.

And we can't. So I shake my head. "Just take it... slow," I whisper, and he grits his teeth and nods.

"Just breathe. Try to relax. You feel so tense around me," he says, and I try to do as he says. I look up at him, never wavering, and breathe in and out. In and out. Slow, deep breaths. It helps, I can feel my body relaxing around him. He must feel it too, and he pushes in another inch, slowly, and it doesn't feel quite as uncomfortable as it did before. He's still stretching me further than I thought possible, but it's easier to bear now. Then he reaches a barrier inside me, and we both know this is it.

Breathe. Just breathe.

He takes a deep breath, and with a forceful movement of his hips, he's through. I scream, the pain burning through me, and he emits a strangled groan, his teeth biting down on my shoulder. He's buried to the hilt, deep inside me.

Nothing could've prepared me for this.

"Don't move," he says, almost desperately, and I keep very still. His eyes are closed, his breathing shallow. Finally, he opens his eyes again, meeting mine. He relaxes more against me, still not moving inside me. With his hands he carefully dries away the tears I hadn't even noticed I'd shed. "Are you okay?" he asks, and I nod hesitatingly. "Did it hurt?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," he says, and I can tell that he really is. "Does it still hurt?"

I pause to consider his question, trying to process how it feels to have him inside me. "Not like... it did."

"Does it feel... good?" he asks hopefully.

I grimace. "It feels... strange," I answer. "Different." We promised each other we'd be honest, after all. He smiles. Then he moves his hips slightly, pulling back an inch, then pushing back in, carefully, all the while closely examining my face for signs of pain or discomfort.

"Was that okay? Am I hurting you?"

"Try it again," I whisper, and he's more than willing to oblige. It does hurt, a bit, but now it's more of a slightly burning, uncomfortable feeling. But there's an emptiness somewhere, waiting to be filled, there is a potential in what we're doing. I'm not quite sure what it is, but it's there. I want more of this, whatever it is. This time he pulls out a bit more, which intensifies the feeling when he plunges back in.

One of my arms is around his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine for a kiss. The kiss is uninhibited, hard, wet, our tongues dueling. There is nothing tender about it anymore, it's pure passion. He's moving inside me again, and there is some confusion when I try to move with him, and we end moving asynchronously, which is unsatisfying for both of us. He tears his mouth away from mine, his brows furrowed, concentrating. "Try moving against me, not together with me," he suggests, and after a few attempts, I get it right. He goes even deeper, and something is stirred inside me, something I've never felt before. "Oh fuck," he moans, his eyes look hazy and clouded over.

I have no idea if our bodies are covered by the duvet, but I don't care.

There is no one here but us.

It feels so good, but I'm still frustrated, I'm not sure what I'm looking for, what it is that I'm chasing. Peeta starts to move faster against me, thrusting harder, we're out of sync again. "I'm not going to... last very long," he pants, "you feel so... damn good... aaaaaargh!" he screams, as with a final series of irregular, deep thrusts he empties himself inside of me.

He collapses on top of me, panting hard, his nose is buried in the dark brown hair covering my pillow, close to my ear. He feels heavy, yet I still want to feel his weight on top of me, I don't want him to go. I'm stroking his back, over and over, reveling in the feel of his warm skin underneath my fingertips and palms.

The duvet is down by our feet, and I realize the cameras must have captured everything. Yet I don't feel ashamed.

The shame is not ours. It does not belong to us.

I whisper loving, nearly inaudible words into his ear as his breathing slowly returns to normal. His skin is flushed, there is a content in his face that I've never seen before. Finally, he moves some of his weight over to his elbows, kissing me. "Thank you," he whispers afterwards. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you." Every word is punctuated with a kiss. The tear that's rolling down my face now has nothing to do with sorrow or pain. There's a feeling in my chest that I've never felt before, I can't even begin to describe it, not even to myself.

He slips out of me, quickly tugging the duvet over us, but not before he's inspected, somewhat worriedly, the drops of blood on the insides of my thighs and on the bed sheet. He starts to apologize again, but I shake my head, stopping him.

"Don't be sorry," I whisper.

I snuggle up close to him, and he holds me tight. "Will you let me do something for you, Katniss?"

"Anything."

"I want you to feel... As great as I did. Before."

I don't know why I blush, considering what we've just done together, but I do. "What do you mean, how...?"

"I can touch you like I did before? You seemed to really... like it." I remember the way I thrashed about in the bed when his fingertips touched me, and I blush even deeper.

"Don't feel ashamed, Katniss. I loved seeing your passion, it was... the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. That look on your face... Please?"

I can never resist him when he looks at me with those puppy eyes of his, and he knows it. A part of me **wants** to resist, though, it doesn't want me to expose myself, this most intimate and hidden part of my soul, to the cameras. But I think about how he made me feel with his tongue and his fingertips, and I find myself nodding.

"I want you to... come as well," he whispers in my ear, and I want to tell him that I never have, I don't really know how to, but I can see that he knows. He smiles reassuringly to me, then kisses me. One of his hands travels down again, and this time the territory it encounters is familiar to him. He's more sure of himself this time, as he gently spreads my legs. I know I must be pretty messy down there, the mixture of our bodily fluids has a heavy, nearly dizzying scent. He doesn't seem to care about the mess, in fact, quite the opposite. I can't quite make out what he groans in my ear, it's something about how feeling his seed on me turns him on so much, and his words together with his touch makes my body buck involuntarily. He rekindles the flame that was temporarily subdued earlier by the pain and the novelty of the situation, and this time, it soars even higher. Within minutes he has me panting in the bed, desperate for a release of a kind I haven't experienced before.

It turns out Peeta has a side I never knew about - the one that whispers things in my ear, things about how I make him feel and how much he loves what he's doing. How much he loves watching my face as I writhe underneath him, what he would like to do to me. And when he sees my eager reaction to his words - I had no idea **words** could turn you on, but it turns out they can - it encourages him to continue. In the end, all that's left is his artist's hand, relentlessly stroking me, getting bolder.

My body is his painting, his work of art.

The other hand is caressing my breast, fueling the fire further, and throughout it all he's looking at me, always looking at me, his blue eyes full of love and lust. I feel his erection pressing into my hip again, but he's intent on making **me** come. I can't offer him any help or insight into how to achieve his goal, I'm reduced to being a moaning creature of fire, **on** fire, begging him not to stop. We've never been this close, he's never had this power over me before. I have to turn over everything that I am to him, offering him a trust I could never offer anyone else.

There's a pressure growing inside me, it feels so immense and foreign it's scaring me, and for a while I fight it. I keep trying to escape it even as it intensifies. His fingers know exactly how to make me lose control now, and he gives me no breaks, he's working me relentlessly. He must see in my face that I'm fighting whatever it is that's happening in my body, because he whispers in my ear: "Let go, Katniss. Let go. I'll catch you. Come for me."

And then I do. My body convulses underneath his hand, my eyes are screwed shut, animal sounds are torn from my throat. A wave of fire rips through my body, again and again.

When at last it stills, I open my eyes to see Peeta's blue, loving eyes looking at me. I want to say something, but my tongue, in fact my entire body, refuses to cooperate, still numbed by the massive assault on my nervous system. He kisses me, deeply, then swiftly lies down on top of me and enters me again. This time there is no resistance, only a brief discomfort which is quickly forgotten. At first I think I'm too exhausted to move, but it doesn't take long until I start matching his rhythm, clutching his lower back, pressing him closer, deeper inside my body. He lasts longer this time – I don't follow him over the edge, but I'm just content watching him lose himself as he empties himself deep inside me for the second time. As he shouts my name as he comes, I know that something between us is changed forever.

There is no going back.

Exhausted, we fall asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

When I wake up, the sun is shining on my face. For a split second I think that I'm outside, in the forest, waking up after an afternoon nap. Then I see the satin sheets, I feel a heavy, sleeping hand over my waist, and remember where I am.

I don't move, I don't want to wake him. Being in the Hunger Games taught me that you have to rest whenever you can. You never know when the next disaster is going to strike.

I didn't have any nightmares last night, and neither did, I think, Peeta. All I remember is just passing out in his arms after our final embrace, and then... Waking up. I haven't felt this rested in a long, long time.

I take a chance on turning around in his arms, hoping I won't wake him. I look at his face in the morning sun - actually, it's not that early in the morning, I absentmindedly register from the sun's angle - it's making him glow. He looks so young and boyish, his hair like gold, his eyelashes surprisingly long and dark. The curves of his lips are exquisite. I haven't really noticed them before. We've shared a bed so many nights, woken up together on so many mornings, yet this one is different.

I have to pee.

And there's something seriously sticky and messy between my legs.

That's where the different part comes into play.

I sneak out of bed, still managing without waking Peeta. I go to the bathroom, empty my bladder, and try to remove the worst of the mess with a washcloth. I'm sore, but it's not as painful as I'd feared. It feels strange, washing him off my body like this. I don't really know how I feel about it. Last night was...

Overwhelming.

When I come back, Peeta is awake. He's lying on his side, one hand under his cheek, looking at me. His hair is tousled, cheeks still flushed, a content smile on his face. Yet there is still something in his eyes, something he's trying to hide - he's insecure. I'm still naked, but I try to ignore my built-in shyness. He's seen and touched every bit of me, made me fall apart in his arms, heard animal sounds being ripped from my throat. Surely my naked body in the sunshine is something I can show him without being embarrassed.

I sit down next to him, leaning in to kiss him on the lips. His lips eagerly meet mine, and the kiss is slow, deep and loving. "How are you doing?" he asks afterwards. I'm lying with my head on his shoulder. My dark hair is everywhere, on his chest, around his head, on the pillow. "Are you... in pain?" He blushes as he says it, knowing it reminds us both of what we did yesterday, but perhaps not knowing if it's a good or a bad thing.

"I'm fine. Just a little bit sore." My index finger lightly traces his lips. "How are you?"

"I'm... wow. Last night was... Incredible." He takes a deep breath. "That's one part of the truth. Do you want to hear the rest?" I nod. We promised each other we'd be honest. This morning is just an extension of last night. We have to keep talking. "I'm scared. Scared that you'll panic and run away from me."

He knows me so well.

"We're in this together, remember?" I finally answer. Our eyes meet, our fingers are interwined. "Last night wasn't something we chose, really... It shouldn't have happened like this. But still... Last night is a memory I'll cherish forever. It's something no one can take way."

And there, there it is again - that feeling in my chest. The feeling I can't quite recognize. The feeling that I think just might be love, but I can't be sure, because I've never felt like this before.

"I love you, Katniss," he whispers. I don't answer, I don't trust neither my tongue to speak nor that feeling in my chest. I let my eyes do the talking, and I think he must know what it means, because the smile I get in return is taking my breath away.

Then I see something on the nightstand. One terrible second I think it's an envelope, but then I see that it's just a red piece of paper, folded in two. It wasn't here last night, someone must've been here while we were asleep.

Yet another invasion of our privacy.

Taking a deep breath, I read what it says. The message is short, written in black ink in an unfamiliar hand.

"Breakfast is served at 10."

Stupid Capitol people, I should've known they'd follow this tradition as well as all the others they followed yesterday. In District 12, the newlyweds are left alone on the morning after their wedding night. Someone leaves them a delicious breakfast (or, in bad times, which is most of the time, just something edible for breakfast) outside the bedroom door, leaving the two newlyweds alone. In the Capitol, however, there is a breakfast for close friends, family and the most prominent wedding guests the next morning, which the newlyweds are expected to attend. I think it's a cruel tradition, in effect putting the newlyweds and their intimate relations on display. Effie forced me to read a book on Capitol weddings a few months ago, and apparently, the newlyweds are expected to display their passion for each other, a reflection of what went on the previous night, if not actually screwing on the table as the guests have breakfast (although it has been known to happen). In our case, it's pretty evident why Snow is doing it - he will use us to display his power over us. And if we hadn't obeyed his order about consummating the marriage, we'd have to open our first envelopes in front of our families and our fellow victors.

Considering what we did last night, I sincerely hope the latter won't be necessary. I briefly wonder if Snow can actually be trusted, but force that thought away, because I know that the answer is no.

It's nearly 10 already. We both take a quick shower and get dressed. We don't talk much, but somehow I'm not surprised when I see what Peeta's wearing. He's dressed in his old jeans and favorite t-shirt from District 12. I'm wearing my hunting clothes - tight-fitting, black jeans, black boots, a simple t-shirt. My hair is in its usual braid, my face free of make-up.

This is who we are.

The message is unmistakable.

You cannot change us.

"Glad to have you back, huntress," he says with a wink, and kisses me, then surprises me by pressing my body up against the door, deepening the kiss. When he finally lets me go, we're both panting, and I can feel that my lips are swollen and my face flushed. He's making me want him again.

"Damn you, Mellark," I hiss, but my smile takes the edge away from my words. He smiles back, and takes my hand.

We are united.

They don't see us at first. The mood at the breakfast table is subdued - I don't know how many are hangover, probably quite a few of them. Perhaps some haven't even been to bed yet. One of the morphlings is sleeping, her head on her empty plate. The tension in the room is palpable. I have a feeling quite a few know, or at least suspect, what's been going on behind the scenes. The other victors, surely. What do our families know? Hopefully not too much. Peeta's parents are there as well. I don't quite know how to deal with my mother-in-law, I am hardly what she would want for her son. I'm not good wife material.

Surprisingly, Haymitch is awake. His jaw is clenched, his eyes hollow. He's the first to spot us where we stand, silently, hand in hand.

The hunter. The baker. Victors. Married. Lovers, now.

There are two empty plates by the table, and I can't help a stolen look, sighing a small sigh of relief when I see that there aren't any envelopes lying on the plates.

"Katniss. Peeta." Haymitch says, and what little chatter there was around the table instantly dies down. Snow's piercing eyes look straight through us. What does he see? I wonder.

I don't care.

And then I realize what they **all** see. They see my swollen lips, the roses in my cheeks, the fire in my eyes - Peeta effectively branded me as his with his fierce kiss just a few minutes ago. He did it on purpose. He may look so innocent, yet Peeta's cunning, he's learned how to play Snow's game. We're dressed in our casual District 12 clothes, our fingers intertwined. Chins held high.

We are united. We are unforgiving.

We did obey last night, but we are victors, we will not be destroyed. We will not be broken. My gray eyes meet Peeta's blue ones, and there's a lingering moment where we say all there is to say, without words.

As we sit down by the table, Peeta immediately starts to chat amiably with the people sitting near him. He bonds people together, he always has. It's perhaps his greatest strength. The tension in the room eases a bit. I meet Haymitch's eyes, he's sitting right across from me. He lifts an eyebrow questioningly, and I nod, a small smile gracing my lips. He lifts his glass, which is surprisingly filled with water, in a silent toast. My mother is sitting next to him, and I can't help but blush when I look at her. Prim watches our silent exchange with furrowed brows, clearly not quite understanding what's going on, but surely sensing that something's up.

And then, looking at the other victors around the table, I realize that Snow has made a mistake - again. Yesterday, he wanted to control us, to break us. What he's done instead, is bind us more closely together. Not just Peeta and me, but all the victors. In the two of us - in Peeta's goodness, and in my purity and resilience - they have found something to unite them. That's what the other districts see in us.

We are defiant. Peeta and I played their game in the arena, yet we bent the rules, and we got out alive. Together. Yesterday, we were again forced to play Snow's game, but we emerge stronger than we were before.

And I know that something starts here, today. I can feel it in the air. See it in the glances the other victors send us. We have shown them that the Capitol can be outsmarted in their own vicious game.

Peeta's hand is still holding mine underneath the table. His fingers are warm and strong around mine, I give them a small squeeze.

And I know this is only the beginning.

* * *

_**This is the last chapter - I realize I could've gone on to write an alternate Mockingjay, but I'm going to leave it here - the rest is up to your imagination!**_

_**I'd just really like to thank everyone who's favorited, followed and in particular reviewed my little story, I'm just overwhelmed. If you review and tell me how/if you liked this fourth chapter you'll make me even happier! I truly enjoyed writing this fic, thanks for reading! **_


	5. Chapter 5

I did it again... Even though I said I wouldn't, I was unable to keep myself from writing a sequel!

After reading your reviews, became curious about what would happen after their wedding night... So now I have to write the sequel to find out! What happens in an AU Panem where Snow still controls Peeta and Katniss? Will Prim be reaped? How will their marriage change Panem? Will there still be a rebellion?

You can find the sequel here: s/9589385/1/

Enjoy!


End file.
